by June Shaw
We stared at her. Her comment opened up a world of possible new leads to offer the detective. Or did he already know this?
“Just one other thing,” I said, a thought occurring. “After leftover food is thrown out here, could anyone dig through it and find out if any kind of medicine was in any individual item?”
She frowned. “Not likely. No, I don’t think so, and I can’t imagine anyone going and digging through all the garbage bags that are thrown out. Also, that could be really dangerous.” She glanced toward the filing cabinet and stepped to the door. “Now if you’ll excuse me.” She held the door open.
“Thank you,” we both said, although she might not have heard. We were barely out of the room when the door shut behind us.
A man’s voice came from the head lady’s office, so even if her door was still open, there was no reason to try to speak with her now. We walked a few feet away from Mom’s Chat and Nap buddies, but didn’t see her with them. They appeared so intent on their lively conversation that none of them seemed to see us. None looked our way while the woman in a wheelchair spoke.
“So if she decided to get rid of her competition, good for her,” she said, making some heads nod and Eve and I jerk our faces toward each other, our eyebrows lifted.
“That’s right,” another one of the ladies said. “I mean it wasn’t nice to kill anyone, but I don’t think she knew it would do that. Maybe make her sick, but not dead.”
We hurried our clip away from them, Eve shaking her head while she spoke. “If the other two ladies Mom is assigned to eat with told the detective about her offering her cherry cobbler to the rest of them and Miss Clarice getting it, Mom might be hesitant about eating with them until this mess is cleared up.”
“Yes. Why don’t we take her out to lunch?” I said.
“Good idea.”
“In fact, I’ll suggest that she come and spend a couple of nights at my house. I can cook for her and keep her away from this place.”
Eve nodded. She pointed to show me our mother was standing at the opposite side of the large room that held a few loveseats, tables, and chairs where residents sat to read the paper, play a game together, or just chat. Mom stood beside a group of men who were betting red and blue plastic chips while playing cards. The only problem was the man she stood behind was Mac. And he was wearing a pale orange shirt.
I thought of red cherries and an orange. My eyesight returned to his shirt.
Mom tilted her head and gave us a look of surprise. “You’re here again?”
Legs shaky and feeling my frown, I pointed at Mac. “Your shirt is reminding me of our sister who died years ago. Recently I remembered that the man who shot her was driving an orange truck.”
He glanced down at his shirt and then up at Mom. “I’m sorry, Miriam. I’ll get rid of it.”
“No, you don’t have to,” she said, although she just stared at the shirt.
The bald fellow seated across the small table looked at us. “I know who drove an orange truck a lot of years back. I think he was the only guy in the parish to ever own one that color.”
I didn’t imagine this man knew about someone driving past our yard when I was eight and playing basketball with my beloved sixteen-year-old sister that the driver shot and killed.
“How long ago was that?” Mom’s beau asked him.
“It was some time back. The fellow drove that truck for a really long time. Let’s see, my daughter Angela had started high school, I think. And my son….”
While he went on, a card player beside him kept nodding.
“Wait. What was the man’s name?” I asked.
“Fred. Fred Zydeco. Isn’t that something? Never heard of anyone with a name like that before. He lived down the bayou, but he sure wasn’t Cajun. Nobody I know got a name like that. It’s just the music some guys play with a washboard.”
It took Mom only an instant to step to the speaker and grab his shoulder. “Where is he? Where is this person now?”
He pulled his head back and looked at her hand. Looked up at her face. “Humph, he’s serving time in the pen. Shot up a couple of people. That guy’s never getting out.”
Mac folded the cards in his hand together and set them down. “I’m out.” He was up and at our mother’s side. A whimper sounded from deep inside her when he wrapped an arm around her. We all stepped away from the table and moved farther away from all others.
He stopped near a wall and looked at my mother’s sad face. “Miriam, I can call the sheriff’s office and get them to match the bullet that killed your daughter with those used by that Zydeco person in the other murders.”
Tears swam over her eyes. Mine burned.
“I’m sorry,” he said and held Mom in a hug, while Eve and I stood by and watched. I wasn’t sure what to make of his offer about matching bullets but liked seeing him take charge and giving her comfort. “I’m sure this is painful to think about, but knowing who did it would give you closure for your daughter’s death.” He tilted his head toward Eve and me. “And for your other daughters, too.”
She watched him, face sad, and nodded.
“I’ll get on it.”
I stepped near him and touched his arm. “How would you think to even do that?”
“I was involved with the court system.”
Eve moved closer so that we formed a tight circle. “The court system?”
“Back home I was a district judge.”
My sister’s expression told me she was as surprised as I was. Instead of being a man who wanted an older woman he could mooch off of, here was a man who could take control. He was a man of strength in his own right. And he was comforting our mother.
“We wanted to take Mom out to lunch,” I told him. “You could come, too.”
“I’d like that. Only let me make that call first. Tell me where you’re going, and I can take Miriam in my car and join you two. We had thought we’d go shopping today anyway.”
I looked at my mother, viewing her in a new way. She was still the person who gave birth to me and my sisters, and no doubt loved us and our father who had died. She was getting older, that was certain, but I saw her beside this man who appeared to also love her and she him. Their love for each other would not take anything away from her feelings about us. It might even strengthen our ties.
While Eve kept watching Mom, I got the feeling she was experiencing similar thoughts and emotions. Our twin minds ran so close together.
“You decide where you’d like to eat,” Eve told Mom.
“Miriam, would you sign us out?” Mac asked, and she nodded. Using his walking cane, he took firm steps toward the wing of the building that mainly housed men.
“Dad-dy!” a woman’s voice called, making him stop. From the entrance, a woman who seemed a few years younger than we were with fluffy brown hair and the rounded face of a person with Down syndrome came with a wobbly run to him. They threw their arms wide and grabbed on to each other in a bear hug.
Tears moistened my eyes while I watched.
A younger woman came in right behind Mac’s daughter and stepped up to him. “I’m taking her to the dentist, but she insisted on stopping here to see you.”
His daughter gave him a big smile with her nods.
“I’m so glad you did. I’m always happy to see you, sweetie.” He gave her a kiss on the forehead. “Now I want you to meet some people.”
She gave us the widest, most genuine smile I had ever seen.
“You know my friend, Ms. Miriam,” he said, and she nodded. “And these are her daughters, Ms. Sunny and Ms. Eve.” He didn’t try to indicate which one of us was which and probably couldn’t tell that with the few times we’d met. “This is my daughter, Belinda.”
Eve and I greeted her. To my surprise, she grabbed each of us and our mother in a tight hug.
“Belinda, we n
eed to go,” the young woman behind her said.
“And this is Amanda,” Mac told us, and we exchanged greetings.
“Daddy, we need to go,” Belinda said to him as though he hadn’t just heard those words. Father and daughter held each other in tight hugs again. She gave us little waves and ambled out with her friend.
“She’s adorable,” I said to her father who kept smiling at her while she left.
“Yes. How old is she?” Eve asked him.
“She’s your age,” Mom answered.
What a surprise. Belinda looked so young. She also looked happy, and I imagined she stayed that way a lot.
Mac faced Mom, his smile no longer evident. “I’m going to go make that call to the sheriff’s office. Would you sign us out?” She nodded, and he thanked her and stepped away.
I took note of the thin, knitted strap on her shoulder with its attached small pouch. “Mom, you need to start using a pill container like I’d brought you.”
“I thought I made it clear that I don’t need to do that.”
At her raised angry voice, Mac turned back to her. “You have a problem?” he asked.
She swiped her hand backward to include Eve and me. “Even though I only take that one pill a day, my daughters think I need to use one of those long daily reminders so I’ll remember to take the pills when I should.”
“But Mom,” I said, telling more than I had planned to. “Detective Wilet wanted to talk to us. He said medicine like what you take was in Miss Clarice’s system, a lot of it. He believes that’s what killed her.”
In silence, all of us stared at each other.
Eve took up the story. “And you had a number of pills missing from your prescription bottle that you couldn’t account for.”
“You put your cherry cobbler aside,” I continued, “and she ate it.”
Mac eyed us. Was he afraid that the woman he cared so much about was a murderer?
He clasped our mother’s hand. “They believe those missed pills could have been broken into pieces and blended into that crunchy cobbler. Miriam, your daughters have an excellent idea. For a while at least, it would be a good idea for you to put your medicine in one of those containers to make certain you—and the detective, if he’s interested again—can see that you’ve taken one every day.”
“We’ll get you another container. Just leave the top open each day that you take a pill,” Eve said.
“Wait.” Mom’s hands reached out to Eve and me. “Are you all saying I’m a murder suspect?”
“Join the crowd.” I said the words before better thoughts arrived. When Mom and Mac eyed me, I went on. “After Eve and I argued with your nephew here that day and then we found him dead in his tub, Mr. McCormick, police believed we could have murdered him.”
He grew quiet, staring down, possibly judging us as killers. Slowly, he shook his head. “No,” he said, looking at us, “you wouldn’t have done that.”
How kind of him to say, especially since no one had located Edward’s murderer yet.
He took Mom’s hand and gave her a small comforting smile. And then he lifted his face toward Eve and me. “By the way, if you’ll get me the bill for all the work you’ve done on my nephew’s house, I’ll pay you for it.”
I released a breath. “Thank you. We will.”
His eyes filled with alarm. He turned them on Mom. “Miriam, someone must have gotten hold of your pills and taken some and crushed them and mixed the pieces in that cobbler.” He stopped, looking even more concerned. “All of your extra pills in that cobbler were meant for you.”
My body grew still as a board. “Someone tried to kill Mom?”
We all stared at each other.
Mom shook her head, facing her beau. “But how can I prove I didn’t do anything to Clarice?”
Again, he sandwiched her hands in his. “The burden of proof isn’t on you. We’ll figure out who’s a better suspect to give them.” Letting go of her hands, our mother’s betrothed wrapped an arm around her back. “And I’m going to be watching you closer. I’m more concerned about someone trying to hurt you than trying to prove you’re innocent.”
Was he suggesting that he might want to move in with her? If so, did that idea bother me? Not if he protected our mother.
Cooks preparing their early lunch made pots and dishes clatter. Some residents were making their way to where they would eat. Their shoes, walkers, and canes struck the floor and their voices lifted while they spoke of food or other things. The scent of spaghetti sauce wrapped around the air.
A man walking across the opposite side of the room made my scalp tighten. Emery Jackobson was around again. Did Mac know that his deceased nephew had put Emery out of business? And also that his nephew knew Tommy Jeansonne’s young daughter was prostituting in New Orleans and hadn’t told him?
What would we discuss when we all sat across from each other at a restaurant? Could I tell Mac? Should I?
I needed more time to sort through my thoughts, to talk them out with my sister. I imagined forcing myself to withhold those things from him and was sorry we had suggested taking them out to eat.
But someone wanted to kill our mother? We needed to keep her away from here.
A thump sounded to our side. The nurse had come out of her office and lifted the wooden piece of the counter. It obviously slammed down, again the uneven piece of that long flat surface.
Behind the nurse, the two head ladies stepped out of their offices and headed toward the offensive piece of the countertop. I anticipated another loud thump and their unhappy faces, and stepped farther away from the office area, hoping the administrator didn’t see us and loudly complain. None of us were in the mood for something like that.
She frowned at the offensive loud part once she came through it, but then headed toward the men’s corridor, her long skirt sweeping the floor. Her assistant came out behind her and did her quick walk toward the dining area.
“She isn’t very nice,” Mom said, an unusual comment for her. She seldom used negative words about anyone.
“Not to me,” Mac said. “Rita is always extra sweet.”
Mom’s mouth opened, her look at him holding disbelief. “Then she must really like you and not me.”
He shrugged, tilting his head, and lifted his silver eyebrows in that way people do to suggest Oh well, I can’t help it.
“She wants to retire,” Eve said. “She looks way too young.”
“Rita is just lazy and doesn’t want to work.” Mom’s comments drew our full attention. “The ladies I spend the most time with all say they don’t know why she gets paid, since she doesn’t do anything.”
Rita strode between tables that now held a few people and appeared to be heading to the kitchen.
“She just oversees the meals,” Mom said. “That seems to be the only job she really takes care of around here.”
“Wait,” I said. “She’s around all the food in the kitchen. She also has access to all of your rooms.”
Eve frowned. “And she wants to retire early.”
“She’s really sweet to you.” I pointed at Mac. “And she must have access to all the residents’ records, so she knows you were a judge. I hate to ask this, but you aren’t hurting for money, are you?”
Lips tight, he gave his head a brief shake. “No, I am not.”
All four of us turned toward the assistant-administrator when she was about to go around the wall and step into the kitchen.
“Rita Picou!” Mac called, and she stopped. Her eyes narrowed when she watched the four of us storming across the room toward her.
“Stay there!” I yelled
“I need to go,” she said.
“No, wait, stop!” Eve yelled at her.
As though she perceived evil closing in, Rita darted toward the front exit. As fast as she was, after she got outsi
de, she could take off and might be hard to stop. I hoped I wasn’t wrong, but she could be a killer.
“Stop her!” I screamed, and residents looked at me thrusting my finger toward her. “She’s dangerous. Don’t let her get away!”
Mom’s Chat and Nap buddies and others all shoved walkers and canes in front of the frantic woman.
Arms flailing, she went down.
Chapter 26
Dave rushed into the manor shortly after policemen took the administrative-assistant away. He found us sitting with our mother’s buddies and came straight to me. “You’re all right? And your mother’s okay?” His gaze located Mom, who smiled at him, bypassed Eve, and shot back to me. “I heard there had been a lot of sirens here.”
“Pull up a chair, young man,” Mom’s fiancée told him from the chair he had pulled up for himself beside Mom, “and we’ll tell you a story.”
Dave grabbed a nearby chair and sat on it beside me to complete our large circle.
Mac started first. “We’ll learn a lot more once Detective Wilet completes his investigation.”
“The main thing is,” I said, “Rita Picou wanted Momma’s man.”
Dave scanned Mac, a slight grin appearing with his nod at the elder man, many of the women in our group now smiling.
“It’s not because of my looks,” the elder gent admitted, one man to the other.
She wanted him for his money, we would learn. He and Mom never discussed their finances with each other, but as assistant-administrator, Rita Picou did know of their worth from the forms they submitted when they applied to move in. As Mom had said, Rita was lazy and wanted to stop working early. She had been trying to figure out how to get Mac to marry her. Then she could live an affluent lifestyle as she’d always wanted.
Mac and Mom became interested in each other, which Rita didn’t see as a major problem as long as things between them didn’t get too serious. She would figure out a way to break them up.
But then Edward came around and started pushing the two to hurry and get married. After they seemed interested in doing that, she went to the house Eve and I had been remodeling. She asked him to show her around. When they were in his lovely upstairs bathroom, she insisted he stop pushing Mac and Mom and, instead, discourage their marriage. When he vehemently refused, she shoved him. He fell backward into that freestanding tub beneath the chandelier. His head bled, and he lay still. Panicked, she turned the water on full blast and ran.